Let me burn stars before the dawn heels us
by Estherthomas
Summary: "Falling in love has never been a part of the equation, although you can never properly quantify or pre-empt anything when a Scottish red-haired is involved." Takes place after "Cold Blood".


Xibalba is the name the Maya give to the underworld. It is a place of fear and darkness, where lies no trace of hope or love. It is the kingdom of the god Hun Came, the world of shadows and despair, the realm of spectrums and demons, of pain and suffering. He smelled the potent fragrance of tuberose, or he prayed that it was tuberose and not real human flesh during its decomposition.

How could he have left Amy there? If the light had ever touched her, she would have had never existed at all. He had no choice. Of course, he feels terrible to have left Rory behind, but he had no choice. He had to. He didn't want to. No, of course not. Did he? No, of course not. He had no choice.

The ring remains in his pocket, like an accusation.

Falling in love has never been a part of the equation, although you can never properly quantify or pre-empt anything when a Scottish red-haired is involved. He has looked at all the variables, he has even made improbable graphics to weigh the pros and cons. But all he can grasp is the eagerness of his hearts when she is in the room, the exhilaration that takes on him when she smiles at him. It's like a glimpse of light in the darkness of winter.

Surprisingly, the Maya mythology also says that the road to Xibalba hides in the dark rift of the Milky Way. Even though that would not be unexpected to him. He has always known that the universe is in love with paradoxes. It is constantly growing and shrinking at the same time. Stars and galaxies are dying, fading, disappearing. Their light shines through billions and billions of light years, morbid echo resonating in a starry sepulchre. To find death in life and life in death is less paradoxical than poetic.

She forgot. Sadness still flickers in her eyes from time to time, but it's like hers is a quixotic memory, or an old photograph worn out by the dust of years. He can tell himself that she lusts for the thrill of adventure all over again. And he wants to run away from his guilty conscience. They pretend to be unbroken, and, sometimes, they forget it's pretending.

Poliana is their next stop. The sky bathes in a sea of salmon-coloured clouds, as ethereal as some liquid crystal. It looks like a field of foxgloves hanging from the celestial sphere. They can see the harbour from where they stand, but the boats are hidden behind their foggy coat. Only the peak of their bowsprits betray their presence. _"This is beautiful! It looks like a Turner painting, "_ Amy says enthusiastically. She takes his hand and nestles against his shoulder. _" Thank you for bringing me here. I feel a bit melancholic as of late. I don't know why "_. She doesn't, but he does, and it's like a dagger in the heart. To protect her is his only desire in life. So, he puts on his mask again and whispers : _" You're welcome "_. It's getting harder and harder to know when to arbor his valiant knight armour or when to throw it away to let her in. There is no sense of right and wrong anymore, no seawall to dyke up his affection.

_" Shall we ? ",_ he asks her, as she kisses him on the cheek.

They walk hand in hand through the small coblestreets of the city. He buys her a lilac-purple pendant, artistically chiselled in a shell shape; the shopkeeper tells them that the pearl it contains possesses strange powers. According to legends, it can read into people's hearts. The name of the person who wears it imprints itself on the pearl, and then the pearl finds the wearer's soul mate. _" That's a bit fairy tale, don't you think? "_, he replies skeptically to the young man. Amy frowns at him before she bursts into laughter. _" Hahaha… Hilarious, aren't we? _", he mumbles. " _Gotcha! ",_ she replies mischievously. He sticks his tongue out at her while putting some money in the seller's hand. At night, they eat ice creams, seated side by side on a bench under an arbour facing the sea.

His armour is rusted and ready to unravel.

* * *

Amy had insisted on taking part in the city festivities. They danced a lot, looked up at the sky to see the colourful explosions of the fireworks and Amy put their name in a box to win the special prize of the raffle. She won. He doesn't know how but she did, and now they are in a luxurious bedroom decorated with beautiful paintings and a splendid ceiling light. She opens the sliding doors and discovers a huge bathroom. There is a tiled floor, tons of candles, and big mirrors on the wall. In the middle of the room stands a porphyry pool like the ones she saw in her history books when she was a kid. He watches her from afar, trying to hide the smile that threats to reach for the sky. She is twirling around the room like a dervish and all he can see is the red waterfall of her hair floating like a veil in the wind.

_" I want to try it ",_ she says between two giggles.

_" We can't stay. "_

_" Why ? ",_ she asks, disappointed.

_" It's not… safe. "_

_" Please, just one night. I won. And I really want to use that bathroom. Please, please, please, " _she begs him, flashing puppy eyes.

_" One night. And you do not get out of this room. "_

She laughs. _" I didn't plan to "._ The look she gives him is everything but ambiguous.

* * *

During the supper, their eyes never meet and the tension between them is palpable. His movements are cautious while her eyes are audacious. He catches a brief glimpse of the pendant he bought her earlier around her neck, and he can feel seaweeds enchaining his hearts.

Later, she wants to have a bath. She doesn't want to keep her clothes to sleep in so she decides to borrow his tweed jacket. When she emerges from the room thirty minutes later, he trembles.

_" Wait ! You ca… can't sle… sleep in this, "_ he says, stammering.

_" Why not ? ",_ she replies.

Great. Everything is fine. He handles the situation, nothing to worry about. Yes but… no. What if… His jacket covering her skin, brushing against her pale and exquisite skin…

_" I take the right side, "_ she states vehemently.

_" I'm not going to join you, Amy. I don't sleep anyway. Never sleep. Very nearly. I mean… sleep is for fragile little humans like you. A Time Lord doesn't… "_

_" We don't have to sleep if you don't want to, Doctor. I'm sure I can think about something more… ", _she interrupts.

_" … yeah, I'm sure about that too. But you can't barely keep your eyes open right now. So, go to sleep. "_

_" You're such a killjoy ! Goodnight, Doctor. "_

_" Goodnight, Pond. Sleep well. "_

He sits on a chair near the veranda to look at the stars. He then turns to watch her sleep, and that vision is so endearing that he can't help but sneak in under the sheets next to her. She doesn't react to his presence. The moon is reflecting in the mirror on the wall, making dots of light dancing on her face like it was covered with a silver hairnet.

He has been watching her sleep quietly for a few hours when she suddenly wakes up and starts crying.

_" Amy, what's going on ? "_

_" I had a bad dream. I felt something… something terrible, like all love had disappeared from the world. "_

She curls up in his arms and his shirt soaks in her tears. He craddles her for a few minutes, trying to calm her.

_" Ssshh. It's okay, Amy. You're safe and, believe me, love is still there. I promise. "_

Before he can even realize it, she is kissing him. Shyly first, then her kiss gets more confident. She thought he would push her away like he did in her bedroom a few months ago. But there is no sign of rejection or evasion. How much he would like to be able to do the right thing though! How thankful he would be to be saved right now. But he knows it's too late. Because he can hear the melody of her sadness, he can feel the electricity that constantly runs between them like they were magnets. He can read her need of abandon, her need to take comfort in his arms and all he yearns for is to hide his own pearl in the corner of her heart. That's how he starts kissing her back and she smiles, and smiles and smiles; and her smile is so wild that it could swallow him.

She takes off the jacket she borrowed him, and starts kissing him again. But he doesn't make a move, he is paralyzed. _" Is everything alright ? "_, she inquires. He can't tell because he is blinded by her mesmerizing apparition. She is pale as the moon, and slender as a reed. He can't even breathe. When he catches a glimpse of the roundness of her breasts, he feels like his legs are going to fail him. He suddenly realizes that his imagination was insipid compared to reality. Her beauty digs holes in his chest and he bleeds rivers of words to worship that cruel deity. It's not just about her hair, or her skin or the infinity of her legs, it's about the way her soul rubs off on her body. To embrace that body is to possess the soul he thirsts for.

He passes his fingers through her hair, trying to take root in that forest of liquid amber. But she is already pushing him away in order to unbutton his shirt. He eyes her greedily, but his gaze is also so tender that she can't barely stand the infinitesimal distance that remains between them. Her fingertips caress his lips with delicacy. They stand as two wine-red elongated rifts running through the surface of the pearly blanket of his skin.

Of course he is handsome, beautiful even she knows the design of his bone structure by heart after all that time. But that's not a thing she would confess. Nor would she admit that she loves him more than she pretends to, because that means she would have to open up her heart to him again, and she is not ready to be broken like she had been as a child. Despite their kinetic kinship, she knows that the bond between them can be cut abruptly like the Life Thread hold by the Fates.

She is scared, so scared, to lose herself in him because he is a not just a man, a flesh entity made of bones and dreams. He is also as endless and ancient as the universe, as bright as the Polar star. He is a wit ball of energy and madness that often turns into strokes of genius. That whimsical alien travelling through time and space in his little blue box is everything she has ever loved and cherished he is both the instrument of her salvation and the one of her downfall. She could not care less about the latter right now as he has started to explore all the recesses of her body.

He kisses her freckles, one by one, like he would pluck the petals of a delicate flower. _She loves me, she loves me not. She loves me, she loves me not_… The soft curves of her breasts finally appear, like two small hills on a pale morning of May. The softness of her skin moves him to tears. She can feel the exquisite liqueur pouring through her pores, as cold as the dew. _Amy_. His voice breaks as he meets her eyes, fire opals set in their precious reliquary. _Doctor_. She looks for his lips, avid to taste their syrupy flavour again. Their tongues are dancing a Viennese waltz, intoxicating them. When they finally part, he takes a few minutes to gaze at her ecstatic beauty and he wonders how she managed to escape the wall of some Italian chapel, angelic figure born from a Venetian painter's brush.

He roams through the valley of her breasts, and down to the downslope of her belly. He can feel the flutterings of her heart increasing as he reaches her navel and comes alongside the square of her stomach. She moans and a wave of electricity runs through her body.

As their skins encounter, she remembers everything. How she waited for him or how they went to Starship UK and saved a star whale in outer space. She remembers their stroll under the four moons of Telinor and the way he brushed a lock of her hair aside with tenderness, or the way he sometimes puts his hand at the small of her back without thinking twice about it. His skin reminds her of the safety of his hands in the Forest of the Byzantium. She is fond of the sound of his laugh and of the beauty spot adorning his neck. She loves how he spins around the console when he flies the TARDIS, the way his hair smells like hawthorn or how he always juggles with his screwdriver she worships his smile, and the texture of his clothes. But all those things are not as powerful as her fear of the unfathomable love she nurses for him.

He can feel the urge of the rising tide, already outshining all his fears. His tired body is strewn with invisible wounds, with imprinted scars only he can translate into memories. But she is making him brand new. She is already planting the seeds of life into his blood, slender buds spreading through his veins, through his rib cage, like relentless ribbons ready to enclose his hearts with the grace of thorns around a rose bush. His heartbeat races and the cacophony in his chest sounds like an allegro of Bach.

His fingers intertwines with hers as he melts into her. She feels like dying; every fiber of her body is burning, screaming his name louder and louder but all she can do is to try to hang on to him by running her fingers through his hair. It's Big Bang 2. They are particles of energy bumping into each other, already mingling with one another to create a new world. He can see her perfect shape draped in a coat of gold leafs. They are meeting stars and comets on the road to awe.

He searches for her eyes and finally sinks into a sea of jade. _" Never let me go ", _he pleads with her. _" Never, "_ she whispers. She can't even feel the sensation of the silk sheets against her back anymore. She is too evanescent for that. All she can feel his the weight of his body on hers, and her nails dig in his flesh, leaving traces on the surface of his skin. They come in chorus and when he spreads into her, they already had built cathedrals of paper, grainy façades covered with their vows, a realm of gold and light crowned by a sky as colorful and fluttery as a flight of butterflies.

He kisses her tenderly and rolls on his back, feeling torn apart all over again. She curls up in his arms and she fits so well in them that it was as if she was born to be enclosed in there, like a pistil in its corolla. They fall asleep, with their bodies sun-kissed and their souls content.

* * *

They have been there for three days, barely getting out of their room, eating marzipan in the bath pool and exploring each other, when he decides to take her to Arcadia. Needless to say that they have not been very chaste. They almost got caught in the Gods' orchard, and also in the King's bedroom–Amy's idea. In the Trojan gardens, the only hollyhocks he properly sees are the ones that bloom on her cheeks as she drowns into the emerald ocean of his eyes. He feels like living in a dream. Sometimes, reality puckers at the surface of their days, like a punctured wool paper; but it never lasts.

He then brings her to the mighty Musée d'Orsay so that she can admire the paintings of Vincent Van Gogh. As usual, nothing turns as expected, and they ends up in Provence, wandering through lavenders fields with one of the greatest painters who ever lived. Jealousy is eating him away. He doesn't want to share. And he still has her taste on his lips which is pure torture.

The second night, as Vincent is asleep – his snoring stands as a legitimate evidence – he finds her in the studio admiring the paintings she had seen a thousand times in her books. He puts his arms around her waist and hides his face in her neck.

_" He wants me to pose for him ",_ she says proudly.

_" What did you say ? ",_ he inquires with a tip of jealousy in his voice.

_" I said I would think about it. You're jealous, aren't you ? "_ she replies, facing him.

_" Yes. I always wanted to pose for Vincent Van Gogh. "_

She puts her hand upon his face and starts to hit him gently.

_" Stupid! I wasn't talking about that. You know what I mean."_

_" Do you want me to be? "_

_" Yes, I think I do ",_ she answers greedily.

_" I'm dying of jealousy. I thought you were __**my **__muse," _he replies with a sultry voice.

Their lips touch and the hunger comes back. She is even more eager than him, even if he is already covering her with kisses. She knots her legs around him as he pins her against the wall. He wants her so much that it consumes him.

_" I missed you so much ",_ she says.

_" I feel like my chest is going to explode._ He says, breathlessly_. It's too pitiful and cramped to enclose my love. I want to set up altars to honor your beauty and to erect statues to capture your soul. I want to be a bird that you would hold back with a silk thread. I want to be your slave and your king, the space between your heartbeats, the air in your lungs. Your love emboldens my soul. You're my love, my fate, my hope "._

Tears are running down her cheeks as she brushes her fingertips along his jaws. They urge that is possessing him echoes in her and they escape the pull of the earth's gravity. Jealousy is the real aphrodisiac. Their fervour warms Vincent's heart.

They end up on the ground, their naked bodies covered in paint and pigments.

When they leave, Vincent gives him a look he doesn't know how to interpret. But when they hug to say goodbye, he whispers three words in his ears, three words that are going to haunt me every day, every second like a curse : _" I am sorry "_. Of course. He started to notice too… something in her eyes, a silence that lasted more than usual. She is starting to remember.

From day to day, she becomes more distant and melancholic. She hides in the library or under the console and he doesn't dare to bother her while she is trapped in her thoughts. And most of all, guilt doesn't leave him alone. When he comes back from Craig's, the ring is not in his pocket anymore. The rose has been plucked, and his hearts ripped off.

He still has her red scarf in his bedroom, gory standard proclaiming his defeat, band aid covering his wounded soul. She trampled their kingdom underfoot and he buried himself in the ashes of this floating world, colossal wreck of his dreams, of his hopes, of his happiness, of his atonement.

* * *

Yes indeed. The Maya mythology says that the road to Xibalba hides in the dark rift of the Milky Way. So, she must have found Rory back in stars. And as he had thought he was starting to possess her, she was already out of his reach. How ironic, that he has found the pearl with her name on it in his pocket a few days ago, oceanic vestige of his sinking reality. The Doctor and Amy Pond and the days that never came.


End file.
